


At His Side

by Emphyrio



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: s01e28 The City on the Edge of Forever, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 20:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12848880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emphyrio/pseuds/Emphyrio
Summary: Having trouble coming to terms with the idea that they may never see the Enterprise again, Kirk and Spock make discoveries about both themselves and each other.Set during the events of what is objectively the best episode, The City on the Edge of Forever.





	At His Side

The first thing that Kirk discovered was that Spock didn’t know how to use a broom. It wasn’t easy to tell, as the Vulcan stoically hid any trace of ignorance, but it became clear that he had never picked one up in his life before. His movements were stiff and imprecise, and he kept glancing surreptitiously over at Kirk, who was working studiously on his assigned section of the floor. The cool basement was dimly lit, but a contrast between Kirk’s side of the smooth concrete floor, which was nearly perfectly clear, and Spock’s, which was covered with a thin film of lightly stirred dust, grew more evident as the two worked. 

Feeling he had done the floor justice, Kirk gave it a last triumphant sweep and glanced over at Spock, who was still toiling away, tall frame bent. As Kirk watched, Spock’s slender chest heaved in a silent sigh and he straightened. Presumably expecting to find Kirk still working, he turned and started nearly imperceptibly at seeing Kirk leaning idly against his broom, smirking warmly. 

“Didn’t they have housework on Vulcan, Mister Spock?” Kirk indicated the floor, smiling. Spock stiffened slightly.

“Not as such,” he replied. “At least, not that I was ever made to do.” 

Kirk chuckled. If embarrassment wasn’t far too much of a human emotion for a Vulcan, Kirk would almost have thought that Spock’s cheeks looked a little deeper green than usual. The real tell would be the tips of his ears, but they were currently covered by his soft midnight blue beanie. 

“Why don’t you let me take the sweeping?” Kirk offered. 

Spock hesitated. Kirk waved dismissively and picked his broom back up. “Unlike your apparently blessed childhood, mine was filled with chores,” he remarked as Spock stepped lightly out of the way of his vicious attack on the gathered dust. “And besides,” he added, “we’d never get paid if whomever Miss Keeler is having us work for came back to this.” 

“You make an excellent point, Captain,” Spock conceded. “What would you propose I do instead of helping you sweep?” 

Kirk paused for a second and looked at Spock sidewise before resuming his onslaught on the filth. 

“I’m sure you can find a way to make yourself useful, Mister Spock. Your resourcefulness is one of your best characteristics. I don’t doubt that it will come in handy again.” 

Spock nodded slowly, considering. He cocked his head as if preparing to ask another question, but remained silent and simply watched Kirk raise the layers of fossilized dust from their deep slumber and send them flying into the air. 

In the end, Spock assisted Kirk by polishing the various hardwood furniture items that had apparently sat in the basement for ages untouched. His elegant fingers were far more accustomed to, and in fact seemed to belong far better with, dials and switches, rather than filthy rags, but he worked diligently and tried to ignore the menial nature of the tasks. He was going to have to get used to it.

The pair’s work was received well enough by the owner of the dingy basement, and they were compensated with a modest sum and sent to walk back to their lodgings. 

Regularly spaced gaslights cast a golden glow on the dark pavement and cut through the pitch black night. The street was littered with the refuse of human presence. The brisk wind of an Earth winter swept through the narrow road, scattering the debris that chanced to lay in its icy path. Kirk had on a green felt coat he had managed to procure through less than legal means, and he began to button it up in the wake of the chill wind. Spock, however, was wearing only a thin shirt of pale blue flannel (obtained in the same manner), and Kirk could swear he saw a shiver run down the Vulcan’s spine. Glancing at his face, Kirk saw that his angular cheeks and nose were burning a light green in the face of the wind. Kirk slowed his pace slightly and undid the buttons he had just done up. Spock looked at him curiously as he slipped off the coat and held it out. Evoking no more reaction than a raised eyebrow, Kirk shook the coat impatiently. Spock took it and looked silently at Kirk, waiting for an explanation. Kirk shrugged slightly in response. 

“It’s cold,” he said simply, “and you’re at a disadvantage. Perhaps this is one time your Vulcan heritage is inconvenient,” he added, “rather than your human half.” He was smiling as he said this, and Spock dipped his head in recognition of Kirk’s knowledge of his alien physiology, an unusual trait in a human. He put on the felt coat and rather clumsily did up the oversized buttons. Kirk now was the one shivering in his too-tight plaid button-down, but he tried to hide his reaction to the biting wind. He pushed the shivering down deep into his torso and allowed his insides to vibrate as he rubbed his arm and tried to stifle the goosebumps appearing even under his sleeve. He laughed slightly in spite of himself. “We’ll get another coat from...somewhere,” he said, trying to keep his teeth from chattering as he spoke, “and we should procure some more clothes for both of us. Who knows how long we’ll be here.” 

Spock tilted his head slightly.  
“By my calculations, Captain, the doctor should be arriving in our timeline in approximately 10 days.” 

“Is that so? Well, we’re definitely going to need more than one outfit apiece then,” Kirk remarked wryly. 

“Of course,” Spock continued, “my calculations could be rather far off. It is difficult to deduce from the information I managed to capture.” 

“Of course,” Kirk parroted, nodding absently. He was sure he had handled much harsher winters than this one, but too much time on a temperature-controlled starship had spoiled him, and his reaction to the cold was not quite as stoic and captainly as he would have liked it to be. Fortunately, Spock didn’t seem to notice his quiet suffering, or at least didn’t mention it, and the two were almost back to their building. They climbed the cracked concrete stairs side by side, edging past a huddled figure in a ratty blanket that sat dozing on the street, hand tight around a half-empty bottle of what appeared to be cheap gin. Relieved to be entering the relative warmth of the apartment building, Kirk let out a sigh. He curled his fingers, trying to bring some feeling back into them, and was sure that if he listened hard enough he’d hear the crackle of breaking ice as he coaxed his unresponsive digits back into full function. Spock had had his hands stuck in the coat pockets, and did not remove them, but Kirk suspected just by looking at the tension in Spock’s arms that his elegant fingers were even more drawn and pale than usual, having not been offered enough protection by the modest cloth. He let his eyes drift up Spock’s body, finally meeting his warm brown eyes, which were watching Kirk in their typical quiet expectancy. Kirk smiled. 

“We should have brought Mister Chekov along,” Kirk joked. Spock cocked his head slightly. 

“Who, sir?” 

“Oh, have you not met Ensign Chekov?” Kirk laughed. “You may soon enough. I do believe I saw his name on the list for promotion to Navigator.” He shook his head in amusement. “Pavel Chekov–there’s a boy who would love this weather.” 

“I will take your word for it, Captain.” 

It occurred to Kirk that if Vulcans could be insulted, Spock may have taken some offense to him suggesting that anyone else was needed, or, even worse, wanted, on their present mission. However, he doubted Spock would let it bother him. There were more pressing matters at hand than Kirk’s failed attempts at humor, anyways. He jerked his head in the direction of their room.

“Come on,” he said gently, “we both should sleep. We have more work lined up tomorrow.” 

Spock nodded curtly and followed Kirk to their room. Neither of the two small beds were in any semblance of order, although Spock’s differed from Kirk’s in that all the trappings were still on the mattress instead of having fallen to lie on the faded carpet in crumpled piles from Kirk’s often overly aggressive manner of waking up. On the table by the door lay a tangle of wires and scraps of metal, which Kirk could only assume were arranged in the most logical configuration possible. Kirk dug the handful of wrinkled, slightly greasy bills out of his ill-fitting jeans and plopped down on his bed to examine them. He tried to conjure up any ancient history knowledge he may once have had, but there was nothing that seemed pertinent. He could tell easily how much money they had numerically, but he had no idea how much it would get him in terms of purchases. He shook his head in frustration and stuffed the paper back into his pocket. Looking up, he noticed that Spock had undone the green coat and laid it, folded carefully, next to Kirk’s side without him noticing. Kirk picked it up and examined it, then flicked his eyes upwards to Spock, who was bent away from Kirk over his nest of machinery. 

“Keep the coat, Mister Spock.” He rose and lay the coat on Spock’s bed, on top of the beanie, which he had apparently also removed without Kirk noticing. Spock straightened, and Kirk could see that his delicately curled ears were indeed exposed, and flushing verdantly at the tips as blood returned to them. 

“If you insist, Captain,” he said. His voice was neutral, but Kirk thought he could detect some minute trace of gratitude in Spock’s half-turned face. Of course, it may have just been a trick played on his eyes by the dim light.

Kirk sat back down on his bed heavily, sighing. He had no idea what time it was, but he was exhausted. Glancing at Spock, who had bent back over his work, he allowed his leaden eyelids to drop and fell backwards onto the thin mattress. 

Kirk woke up curled on his bed, arms wrapped around the pillow under his head. The room was flooded with a dim morning light. He was groggy and disoriented, but the sight of Spock cross-legged on his own bed, fiddling with some delicate piece of metal, brought him to consciousness. He was wrapped in the thick comforter that he was sure had been on the floor when he had gone to sleep, and he couldn’t remember fetching it. Spock, apparently unaware of his Captain’s having woken up, let his hands drop slowly to his knees and blinked hard. As Kirk watched, he opened his mouth wide in a silent yawn, oddly long emerald tongue stretched out and curled like some sort of Terrestrial housecat. Spock shook his head slightly and happened to catch Kirk’s eyes, which he obviously did not expect to be open. A very slight mint flush crept over his sharp cheekbones, and he cleared his throat. 

“Captain. I was not aware that you were awake.” 

“Indeed,” Kirk replied amicably. He stayed nearly motionless, breathing deeply in through his nose and savoring the warm fuzz of sleepy early mornings, continuing to watch Spock affectionately as he turned back to the entrails of a tricorder splayed on his bed-covers. “Spock,” he said, beginning to wake up slightly. Spock turned back to him. “When was the last time you slept?” Kirk asked, in his typical tone of personal concern hidden behind brusque professionalism. Spock looked upwards, apparently doing mental calculations. 

“It has been approximately 86 hours, sir,” he responded before turning back to the work that Kirk was apparently determined to keep him from. 

“Spock,” Kirk said, no professionalism to mask his concern this time, “you need to sleep.” 

“I respectfully disagree, Captain,” Spock said, not taking his eyes off the part in his hand. Kirk stretched and roused himself, the warmth of the morning fading as he became more and more awake, replaced by the crisp coolness of the winter sunrise seeping in through the thin curtains. 

“Have you been working on that thing the whole time we’ve been here?” Kirk asked, gesturing to the tangle of machinery that still sat on the table. 

“Of course, Captain. It is necessary to assemble the device as soon as possible.” 

Kirk rubbed his eyes. 

“I thought you said we had ten days?” 

“It is likely that we have approximately ten days before the doctor arrives. It would be nine days now, of course.”

“Of course, nine now…” Kirk muttered blearily, having just stifled a yawn. Spock continued on unhindered.

“My calculations are far from exact, and regardless, finishing the device sooner rather than later can only be beneficial.” 

“Not if it costs you your sanity, Mister Spock,” Kirk said as he began to head to the door, “or, worse, affects the quality of your work.” He had to stop himself from slapping Spock on the back amicably as he passed him, realizing that the nature of his work was most likely highly precise and would not take well to being jostled. Instead, he lightly touched Spock’s shoulder, pressing in for barely a second with just the tips of his fingers, to indicate the friendly nature of his remarks. Kirk reached the door and considered his options. Before he could even get through the list, he heard someone approaching. His mind was only just now waking up, and so it took him a moment to panic upon seeing Spock’s uncovered ears, overtly alien as ever. “Where’s your hat, Spock?” he asked urgently. Spock looked up in surprise, then pointed to a pile of nondescript cloth stacked on the wooden chair. Kirk dug through the abandoned clothes and pulled out Spock’s blue beanie, which he flung across the room to Spock. It was a surprisingly beautiful throw for a panicked motion at a time when even the sun shouldn’t really be up, but Spock fumbled the catch and had to retrieve it from its haphazard resting place on top of some of his minute machinery. He pulled it over his head just as a knock on the door sounded. Kirk opened it to find Edith Keeler in a soft pink dress, smiling brightly as always. 

“Why, hello, Miss Keeler,” he said, smiling just as much as she was. She seemed to have that effect on him. Spock couldn’t see, but he suspected that Kirk looked like an idiot. 

“Good morning,” she lilted, “are you ready for work?” 

Kirk spread his hands. 

“Of course.” 

“Good.” She seemed heartened by his reaction. “Oh, there may be a slight problem, though.” 

Kirk raised his eyebrows. “The job only calls for one man,” she continued in her mellifluous tones, “so I suppose that one of you has the day off.” 

“Not a problem at all, Miss Keeler.” Kirk smiled charmingly. Spock just barely refrained from rolling his eyes, concentrating on keeping his vision focused on his precise work.

“Excellent. I’ll meet whichever one of you will be working at the Mission in an hour or so.” She whisked nimbly around and walked daintily down the steps. Kirk watched her leave, then turned back to meet Spock’s unblinking gaze. Rather sheepishly, he closed the door. 

“So I suppose you have the day off, Mister Spock.” 

“I suppose so, Captain. It will give me a chance to work on my device uninterrupted.”

“Oh, no you don’t, Mister,” Kirk said, laughing slightly, “you’re going to take this day to sleep.” 

Spock started to protest, but Kirk held up his hand. “I don’t want your work getting sloppy, you hear? Go to sleep,” he said firmly, pointing a finger at Spock, “that’s Captain’s orders.” Spock’s mouth opened slightly in incomprehension. “I’m going to get myself breakfast,” Kirk continued, “I’ll bring you something and then get to the job.” 

Spock’s deep brown eyes gleaming, mechanical bit limp in his hands, Kirk began to walk out the door. 

“Captain,” Spock called. Kirk turned around. “If you’re going to be leaving, shouldn’t you take the coat?” 

“I told you it’s yours. Besides, it’ll motivate me to find another one for us.” 

Spock gave a small shake of the head. 

“That is illogical, Captain. It is cold out. You should dress appropriately.” 

“I’ll be fine, Spock.” Kirk once again began to leave. 

“Jim.” 

Kirk turned around to meet Spock’s rich chocolate gaze, his eyes somehow warmer, more… human than they were just a few moments ago. “Take the coat,” Spock said, not breaking eye contact. Kirk, smiling wryly, picked up the heavy green coat from where it lay abandoned on the chair. 

“If I wear this, will you promise to sleep?” He smiled at Spock. Spock’s face softened both incredibly slightly and incredibly obviously. 

“I would never think to disobey an order, sir,” he said gently.

The two stared at each other for a brief moment more as Kirk slipped on the coat, which was in truth a tad too long for him, then left the room. Spock watched him close the door behind him, and then was left with nothing but his machine. 

It had taken Kirk a few days to learn the city streets, but he now could navigate modestly well without having to stop and ask directions. Not that he would if he needed to. The store he had been directed to by Ms. Keeler was a small family-run stand, quaint by most standards, archaic by Kirk’s. Moderately fresh produce was stacked haphazardly in wooden boxes, paper signs stuck in them to advertise the “low, low prices.” The shelves had usually been picked over by the time Kirk got his chance to look through them, but today he was early enough to snag an unusually large, deep red apple for his breakfast. Unsure what to get for Spock, he grabbed a head of lettuce and a handful of the largest, crispest-looking carrots he could see. Despite fumbling with the bills a bit, he managed to pay for his produce and get on his way back to Spock. Grasping the paper bag with one arm, he used the other to crunch down bites of his apple. Sweet juice running down his chin as he hurried along, Kirk caught the alluring scent of freshly sliced meat. A small deli, fat sausages hanging in the window, was sat temptingly across the street. Kirk hesitated a second, scuffed black regulation boot hanging in midair, then shook his head and continued on. There would be time for more to eat later, assuming he had enough money. Besides, he thought ruefully, Spock isn’t exactly crazy about my carnivorous habits. And the doctor, were he here, would certainly have some lecture about my diet. Taking another bite of the apple, which suddenly seemed bland and unappealing, he strode rather bitterly down the crowded street. 

Kirk reached his building as the winter sun crept up the sky enough to brighten the dreary landscape. The light was considerably more yellow than he was used to, despite the cold cast of the pale blue sky, and Kirk couldn’t tell whether it was more comforting or disturbing to his sunlight-starved eyes. He was back on Earth, indeed, on his home, but in what circumstances? In addition, the entire atmosphere seemed far greyer, perhaps even denser, than he remembered it being, likely due to the wanton pollution of ancient Earth civilizations such as the one he was currently trapped in. He took a last bite of his apple, trying to ignore the rather mealy feel that it seemed to leave in his mouth once it had been compared to the prospect of meat, and tossed the core into a garbage can. Leaping lightly up the steps in one of his typical casual displays of athleticism, he nearly dropped the bag that was cradled tightly under his left arm. Fortunately for him, there didn’t seem to be anybody to notice his blunder, and, cheeks burning slightly, he walked more carefully up the steps leading to his and Spock’s room. Shouldering the door open, he looked to the table where Spock’s contraption sat, but the Vulcan wasn’t in his usual position. Glancing around the room quickly, Kirk’s face softened into a smile. Spock lay on his bed, knees bent to one side, one hand gripped tight around something. He had apparently fallen backwards in exhaustion while working and his gangly limbs had decided to simply lay where they were, as the bed was slightly too short for him to stretch out in his entirety. Mechanical bits lay around him like strange metal flowers. Kirk set down the bag of vegetables and closed the door softly. Taking a closer look at Spock, he determined that the Vulcan was in fact deeply asleep, not meditating or even trancing as he was occasionally given to. His slender chest moved in and out slowly as breath was pulled through his tough alien lungs, raised in the thin atmosphere of his desert planet and needing scarcely any smothering Earth air to survive. Kirk carefully picked up all the delicate metal blooms and placed them on Spock’s work table. Then, as gently as he could, he took the Vulcan’s hand in both of his and pried the bundled wires from his long, graceful fingers, which were clamped tight even in sleep. Laying Spock’s hand down by his side, Kirk chanced to brush his ribcage and felt for a moment his heartbeat, much slower than normal and yet still impossibly fast. What an odd thing, the Vulcan heart. Beating twice as fast as its red-blooded counterpart, and yet preserving its keeper for decades more than the human heart could. Perhaps the human heart is too swelled, Kirk thought to himself, too full up with emotion. To go on for that long, it would simply burst. He chuckled internally. Maybe Vulcans have the right idea after all. His hand seemed comfortably warm, and he realized that it was still gently resting on Spock’s palm. Retracting it slowly, he noticed that Spock was lying on top of, rather than under, his comforter. Kirk walked silently around to his own bed and retrieved the comforter from where it lay, apparently in the slow process of returning to the floor. He laid it tenderly over Spock and suddenly realized how he himself had managed to wake up wrapped in a comforter he didn’t go to sleep in. Kirk sighed deeply, the cold light filtering in through the curtains reminding him that he had a job to do. Taking one last look at Spock, Kirk left as quietly as he had arrived. 

Kirk returned to the room in the faded orange light of a winter sunset, a half-eaten slice of bologna hanging from his mouth and a paper lunch bag containing more of the same clutched in his left hand. He was gripping a bundle of cloth to his side with his right. The first thing that he noticed was that Spock was no longer curled up on the bed, but instead bent over the snarl of electronics taking over the table. His shirt was slightly wrinkled and, most surprisingly, his hair was rather tangled. Looking a bit closer, Kirk thought he could see the slightest hint of waves beginning to form in the short black locks. The second thing Kirk noticed was that the blanket he had placed over Spock had been returned to his bed and neatly folded. Spock’s bed, on the other hand, had accumulated more scraps of metal and plastic and even a few bits of wood, arranged in delicately haphazard configurations. Kirk laid the bundle of cloth and the bag he was carrying down on the floor and removed the bologna from his mouth. 

“Evening, Mister Spock,” Kirk said, grinning. Spock raised his head, slightly groggily, or so it seemed to Kirk. “Glad to see you’re back with the living.”

Spock’s brow furrowed slightly. 

“I was not dead, sir. Merely asleep.” 

“Right,” Kirk said, trying to refrain from laughing. “You found your breakfast, I trust?” he asked, taking another bite of his bologna. Spock nodded. 

“Indeed I did, although I’m not sure it is technically breakfast if eaten in the evening.”

Kirk shrugged, wolfing down the rest of the slice. 

“Close enough,” he said with his mouth full. Swallowing, he continued. “I wasn’t quite sure what to get for you, by the way. Do you have any preference when it comes to Earth vegetables?” 

Spock looked up at Kirk. 

“Any vegetal sustenance will do, Captain. However, I found the orange roots you left me this morning rather pleasant.”

“So you like carrots, eh?” Kirk smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

He crossed over to the window and leaned across Spock’s workspace to jerk aside the curtains. The sky was a pale pinkish-orange in the wake of a swollen, sanguine sun framed by dim buildings and wisps of thick grey clouds. Spock rose to stand beside Kirk and looked out the window as well, hands clasped behind his back. Kirk glanced at him, then back at the sky. “What do you think, Mister Spock?” he said quietly, eyes still focused on the fireball slipping below the jagged skyline. Spock shifted his stance slightly, letting his arms drop. 

“The scattering of light by your Earth’s atmospheric particles is alien to me, and yet…” he paused, then continued in a softer voice. “I find it quite attractive, Captain.” 

Kirk crossed his arms. Unexpectedly, Spock continued speaking, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Sunsets on my home world are equally beautiful, although because of the thinner atmosphere and the presence of red particles in the air they are a rather striking blue… I am not sure which I prefer.” He looked at Kirk, his eyes gleaming softly in the crimson light. Kirk turned his head to regard the Vulcan curiously. “I would guess that you prefer these,” Spock continued. “You are, after all, home.” He emphasized the last word in a way that suggested far more emotion than he could ever admit to having. Kirk laughed sadly. 

“No, Spock,” he sighed softly, “I’m not home. Neither of us are. We belong on a ship that doesn’t exist in a time that may never come. And besides,” he chuckled, “I couldn’t say which planet I prefer. I’ve never seen a Vulcan sunset.” 

Gaze unbroken, Spock spoke in an almost inaudible voice.

“Would you like to?” 

The two stared at each other in a mutual state of mingled hopelessness and comfort. “I know Vulcan well,” Spock continued in his impossibly low register. “There are places of unimaginable beauty and solitude. Places where you could forget your command for a while, and allow yourself to rest. You are human, after all,” he added. “You need to rest sometime.” 

Kirk smiled, deep honey eyes glimmering sadly in the dimming light. 

“We’re alone here, Mister Spock. Perhaps far too alone. And without a ship, I am not in fact in command. I am a captain without a crew.” 

“Not entirely,” Spock replied. 

Kirk was unable to think of an appropriate response. 

The two had been drifting closer to each other as they spoke, and now their hands brushed together. It was impossible to say who was to blame for the encounter. But there they stood, silent, hands lightly touching, just the barest bit of contact between them, until the sun had dipped completely below the horizon and left them in the dim light of the smog moon and the faintly shining stars. 

“We should go to bed,” Spock finally said. Kirk’s hand jerked back involuntarily in surprise and the casual bond was broken. 

“What?” he choked. 

Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“It is late,” he said, not comprehending Kirk’s reaction. “If we are to wake up at an appropriate time, you should sleep. And seeing as you seem to be against my remaining awake, I will attempt to sleep as well.”

“Oh,” Kirk said, a bit flushed. “Indeed.” He looked over to Spock’s bed, which was scattered with scraps of electronics. “Can you sleep on that thing?” he asked, gesturing with his thumb. Spock looked over as well.

“Not at present. The machinery is far too delicate to move at this point.” He looked back to Kirk. “I had planned to sleep on the floor.”

Kirk shook his head. 

“Take my bed,” he offered. “You have more important work than I do.” 

“That is illogical,” Spock replied. “You are human and require more sleep than I. Besides, it is my own fault that my bed is unusable.” 

Kirk thought it foolish to protest further. Spock laid out a blanket and pillow on the floor and set his head down. Kirk climbed into his own bed but was unable to get comfortable. He could just barely see Spock, who was lying on the other side of the room, behind the metal-strewn bed. Finally Kirk rose and grabbed his own blanket and pillow. He strode to where Spock lay and spread out his own blanket so that the edge overlapped with Spock’s. Spock looked up.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Kirk continued to decisively smooth out his blanket.

“I’m joining you,” he said shortly. Satisfied with the makeshift mattress, he laid the pillow down in exaggerated delicacy. He laid down and rolled to face Spock. “It didn’t seem right,” he said with a small smile, “looking down on you.” 

Spock gave as much of a curt nod as he could manage for being horizontal. Their faces were barely a foot apart, and they were staring at each other in the way they could for hours without noticing the time pass. Spock had one arm trapped under his body and the other lying at an angle between the two, elegant digits resting in gentle curves. Kirk reached out his free arm and laid it tenderly on Spock’s shoulder. He could feel Spock take a sharp breath in as he pressed lightly with his fingertips. Kirk let his hand drift, following Spock’s arm down to the wrist, then he paused. Hesitantly, he began to lift his hand, realizing what he was doing. But Spock stopped him, twisting his hand to grab Kirk’s gently. Slowly, Kirk relaxed into the long-fingered grip, and the two lay with their palms pressed together, one chill and slender, the other fleshy and warm. Kirk suddenly felt very, very calm, and very, very sleepy. Before he realized what was happening, his eyelids fell closed and he slipped into a deep, peaceful slumber. Spock closed his eyes and allowed the slightest sigh to escape. Kirk’s mind was too full of worry. However, there was no other mind Spock had ever seen that felt so comfortable to inhabit, so natural. Spock could live there for ages. But now it was dark in Kirk’s psyche, nothing but the soft drift of stars to occupy his subconscious. Spock squeezed Kirk’s hand gently. He allowed his mind to wander, and, quicker than he would have liked to admit, was fast asleep as well.

Spock woke up with Kirk in full possession of his arm. Apparently his stoic Captain was a very clingy sleeper, and had hugged Spock’s slender arm to his chest at some point during the night and then rolled over, bringing Spock with him. Kirk still had a pillow under his tousled blond head, but Spock had been pulled off of his. It was still dark out from what Spock could see, so he thought he would allow Kirk to sleep for as long as possible. He carefully extracted his limb from the warm grip and rose. Running his sleepy fingers through the back of his tangled hair, he tried to smooth it out some but was unsure of his success. It definitely seemed to be reverting to its naturally curled state. Slightly distressed by this possibility but deciding that it was inconsequential, he returned to his sprawling machinery.  
Kirk awoke in the morning light and had a difficult time figuring out why he was on the floor. Then, the events of the previous night flooded back to him, and he glanced over his shoulder at the crumpled blankets where Spock had lain. Unsure of his next course of action, he rose and stretched. Spock had turned around from his work upon hearing Kirk get up, and a small smile was creeping across his face at seeing Kirk’s rumpled hair and wrinkled clothes. Kirk smiled back, if a little shyly. He rubbed his back and made a face. 

“Mister Spock,” he said with a wry smile, “it’s not that I don’t enjoy sleeping on the floor, but I think my back would prefer if I used an actual mattress.” 

“Of course,” Spock replied, turning back around. “Although I must remind you that the decision to join me on the floor was autonomously yours.” 

“Indeed it was,” Kirk acquiesced. He regarded Spock curiously. He did not seem distressed about what had transpired the previous night. Of course, there was probably no way Kirk could tell what he was feeling. _Actually,_ Kirk thought, _I suppose I could ask him._ But unsure of Vulcan custom, and doubting at this moment his knowledge even of Earth’s, he walked rather awkwardly around to where Spock was sat and stood silently as if waiting for instructions from some all-knowing other. Spock was working studiously on a minute configuration of metal and wire. 

“Something you need, Captain?” he said without looking up. Kirk shook his head, slightly flustered. 

“Oh, no, Mister Spock.” 

Spock, clearly disbelieving him, raised his head to meet Kirk’s concerned eyes. 

“You obviously are troubled by something, Captain.” 

Kirk smiled sadly. “Well, that’s one thing. I thought you agreed with me that as neither of us technically exist, I am not a captain? Or at least, am a captain of nothing?”

Spock cocked his head. 

“You are correct that in this timeline, you possess neither a crew nor a ship.” Kirk nodded and looked away as if his fears had been confirmed. But Spock continued. “You are, however, still my captain.” 

Kirk looked sharply back at Spock, then inhaled and opened his mouth as if to say something. He could make no sound, and so let the breath go and closed his lips. He walked rather briskly towards the pile of cloth that he had dumped on the floor the previous night and pulled out a felt coat, similar to the one they already owned but shorter and a mahogany color instead of a forest green. 

“I got myself a coat,” he called. “So now maybe we can stand to be outside at the same time.” He turned around and started slightly at seeing Spock standing behind him, having apparently silently risen and moved to be closer to his captain. “If you wanted to get breakfast…” Kirk faltered, suddenly realizing how very tall Spock was and how very elegant every slender bit of him was. Spock shook his head. 

“I am not hungry at present.” 

Kirk nodded. His eyes wandering, he noticed Spock’s hair, which had apparently begun to form soft, loose ringlets overnight. He let the coat fall to the floor in shock.

“Spock,” he gasped, “your hair…?” 

He involuntarily reached out a hand towards the tempting jet curls, but stopped midway. Spock, fixing him with a melted chocolate gaze, reached a hand out and gently pulled Kirk’s fingers into his tangled mane. Kirk stroked the raven tresses in disbelief. 

“As you have pointed out,” Spock said softly, “neither of us exist. Therefore, I see little reason to abide by rules which only applied in our previous universe.” 

Kirk nodded, slightly lost in Spock’s eyes, and still in shock from his hair, but trying to listen. “And so...” Spock intoned. Stepping forwards, he gently slipped his fingers around Kirk’s loosely hanging hand and stroked the soft, slightly sweaty palm with one delicate fingertip. Kirk thought he could finish Spock’s sentence for him. Having to look up, which he was not used to, he used the hand that was already entwined in Spock’s hair to pull his face down and press their lips together. Spock responded uncertainly at first. He was unused to Terran kissing, but he thought he could pick it up pretty well with a little study. He succumbed to instinct and began to trace the inside of Kirk’s mouth with his verdant tongue. Kirk, on the other hand, was quite fluent in Earth-style embraces, but was unsure about the Vulcan kind. He allowed Spock to stroke small circles in his palm and felt a strange calmness wash over him with every rotation of the gentle fingertips. Dopamine streamed down his spine with a shivery pleasantness. Kirk couldn’t be sure, but the long tongue currently exploring his mouth seemed…colder than any embrace he had experienced before. Not in any metaphorical sense of the word—it seemed to literally have a lower physical temperature than his own tongue. However, it was not necessarily unpleasant. Surprised, although he probably shouldn’t have been, by Spock’s ability to go without air, Kirk broke off the Terran kiss and took a few deep breaths through his nose. 

“I know you can’t decide which of us has the better sunset,” he gasped, “but which planet do you think has the better kiss?” 

“I do not know,” Spock replied in a deep reverberation, “I may need more data.” 

“I think we can provide that.” Kirk grinned and wrapped his arm around Spock’s slender waist, and the two proceeded to run a few more tests.

* * *

The day when the doctor should have arrived had come and gone, and there was no shortage of worry between the two stranded astronauts. Spock’s device was long since finished, and Kirk was still working odd jobs to provide rent and food for them. Spock was able to help out occasionally, having finally learned enough to become proficient with a broom, but there was not much to occupy their days. Spock’s hair was well and truly curly now, and Kirk’s had grown out into a wavy amber fluff. The city only grew colder as time went on, the wind’s icy fingers closing their grip on the dusty streets, and Spock’s discomfort was becoming increasingly evident. He had taken to wearing his Starfleet uniform under his Earth clothes to provide some insulation, and seeing the proud blue and gold hidden so furtively made Kirk more upset than he was able to explain. 

“It’s just like us,” he had muttered. “Remnants of another time, and everything it stands for hasn’t even been invented. We are unknown, and even if we weren’t, there would be no one to understand.” 

Spock had nodded, slightly lost. The basic sentiment was easy enough to comprehend, but why wearing his uniform upset Kirk so much was a bit beyond him. Kirk, upon seeing his concerned eyes, shook his head. “Disregard me, Spock,” he said, “I’ve been away from my ship for too long.” 

Spock cocked his head silently. The two were sitting outside their apartment building, watching the occasional passersby struggle against the biting wind. Sick of the stifling indoors, Kirk had insisted they go outside despite the cold, and Spock had grudgingly followed. He hadn’t had a job in days, and while no longer having to buy radio equipment for Spock meant that they had plenty of money to survive off of, he was becoming restless. They had visited a bookstore and Kirk had managed to scrape up enough to purchase a copy of Oliver Twist, but that was days ago and he had already read through it twice. He was beginning to smother in his lack of responsibility. His mind had been trained for the rigors of captainship, and now he was like a lab-grown specimen transferred back into the wild—unused to a natural environment and beginning to lose himself within it. He watched the world go by sadly, silently, hoping almost to wake up from this dream. Not a nightmare, but just a dream he couldn’t wake up from. He closed his eyes against the biting wind and sunk his head into his hands. Spock watched him curiously. 

“How long have we been here?” Kirk asked, voice muffled. 

“If you mean sitting here on these steps, it has been approximately 63 minutes,” Spock replied. “If you mean in this timeline, approximately 19 days.” 

Kirk made a noise of mingled surprise and upset, still sunk deep into his hands. 

“Nearly three weeks in a time we don’t belong to…and no sign of when we’ll get out.” 

“The doctor should be arriving in our timeline very shortly,” Spock replied, “assuming—” 

“Assuming what?” Kirk exclaimed, lifting his head, “Assuming that you’re not wrong again?”

Spock inhaled. 

“I admit that my initial calculations may have been incorrect, Captain, but—” 

“And what if these are incorrect as well?” Kirk interrupted again, standing up. “What if we came into this timeline too late? Or in the wrong place?” 

Spock stood up to face him and continued as calmly as possible.

“Captain, I am operating on the most logical conclusions from the data available.” 

“But Spock, what if we never get home?” Kirk’s voice was softer now, but no less distressed. “What if I never see the Enterprise again?” 

Spock shook his head very slightly in deep concern, but had no answer. Kirk stared at the empty street as if it would provide clarity. He looked back at Spock in a heart-breaking expression of fear and helplessness, face pink in the onslaught of wind. Spock, quickly determining that there was in fact no one around, moved close to him. Drawing his chilly fingers out of the felt pocket, he placed his fingertips lightly on Kirk’s temple and cheek and closed his eyes, preparing for the rush of emotion from Kirk’s mind. 

But it didn’t come. Kirk wrenched Spock’s fingers off his face and stepped backwards.

“Stay out of my mind, dammit!” he yelled. “I can handle my own emotions without your blasted intellect!” 

Spock’s face dropped in shock. 

“I just…” he faltered. “Jim…” 

“Don’t ‘Jim’ me,” Kirk snapped. He whipped around. “I’m going to get something to eat.” 

Pushing against the frigid wind the whole way, Kirk stormed off, leaving Spock alone to watch him recede into the grey horizon. 

Kirk bought himself the juiciest steak he thought he had ever seen and a steaming black coffee to go along with it. Sitting in a dusty booth of the small diner, coat drawn up around his frosted cheeks, he tried his hardest to be angry at Spock. Damn Vulcan has no right to my mind, he thought, savagely hacking at the slab of meat on his plate. Just because he can’t handle any sort of emotion doesn’t mean I can’t. He tore a chunk off his fork and chewed on the tough flesh. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real steak, cut from the corpse of a real animal, not some low-fat synthetic construction of minerals shaped to look like meat. He tried to keep himself focused on the hot, juicy sinew he was working through his teeth, lest the image of Spock standing across from him, perfectly angular face fallen and delicate fingers left hanging in midair, seep into his consciousness. The coffee was scalding and bitter, but he gulped it down as if it were the first drink he had seen in years. When he had drained the mug and was left with bitter dregs and a burning throat, he ordered another. This one he drank with more trepidation, watching the world outside fade from a grey afternoon to a pinkish twilight to a black night. He couldn’t go back to the apartment. Not now. He had no idea what time it was, but it wasn’t late enough yet. Ordering yet another coffee from the large-busted blonde waitress who addressed him only as “honey,” he sat and stared into its inky depths, not drinking it but instead watching the steam rise from the still surface and spiral and fade into the air, until it no longer released its wistful vapor. Taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid, he almost chuckled. I’m sure Bones would have a few choice words about my caffeine consumption, he thought. McCoy had never let him have more than one coffee in a day if he could help it, and here Kirk was working on his third in the span of a few hours. There’s someone else I may never see again. Kirk finished the cup before he had even realized he was drinking it. He sighed, staring off through the large, slightly smudged window at what he could see of the stars, the glittering diamonds on black velvet. He tried to map out systems and planets, but too many of the stars were obscured by light pollution and the thin layer of smog that hung over the city for him to get any sort of accurate bearing. Adrift in space, he thought wryly, except I have no control over this vessel. Becoming more self-aware as the night crept on, he figured that he had better get himself outside before he drowned in self-pity. Leaving a few crumpled bills on the table and hoping that it was relatively close to a reasonable amount, he pulled his collar up over his face and stepped out into the relatively still night. Despite the lack of wind, it was freezing out, and Kirk pulled the coat tightly around him and bustled down the sidewalk. After several minutes of walking down deserted streets, he came to his apartment building. He stopped on the other side of the road and stared at the suddenly foreboding structure. Although not the largest building on the block by far, it seemed to loom over Kirk, daring him to enter. He took a deep breath of arctic air, which stung his throat and made his eyes water. At least, he was pretty sure it was the cold doing that. Looking around at the desolate street, gaslights casting a halcyon glow and keeping the smothering darkness at bay, Kirk decided that the only thing to do was to go inside. 

The apartment was eerily still at night, Kirk’s soft footsteps the only sound in the darkness. It was lit by sporadically placed sconces, most of which had flickered out. He reached his and Spock’s room and hesitated by the door. If Spock was awake, it was very possible that those keen Vulcan ears of his had detected Kirk’s presence already. And Kirk saw no reason to believe that he was asleep. Slowly, Kirk opened the door, trying to keep the click of the lock as quiet as possible. The room was dark and silent, and Kirk almost felt like an intruder. He saw no sign of Spock, but his eyes had barely adjusted. He closed the door as silently as he could. When his pupils had dilated enough to let him make out basic shapes, he noticed a dark form in the chair by the window. Inching closer, he saw that it was indeed Spock, sitting in the dim starlight with his head bowed and eyes closed, fingertips pressed together and held in front of his chest. He clearly had heard Kirk come in, as he sighed and opened his eyes, leaving his hands where they were. 

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Kirk said quietly. Spock inhaled deeply. 

“You are not intruding,” he replied coolly, “as this is your room as well.” 

Kirk pulled the unoccupied wooden chair, which was sitting in the corner, up next to the table where Spock was. He wrung his hands and looked out the window. Spock finally lowered his hands and turned to regard Kirk, whose face was creased with guilt. 

“Spock…” Kirk whispered, but was unable to find words to finish his thought. 

“I must apologize, Captain,” Spock said, cutting off Kirk’s suggestive silence. Kirk blinked and shook his head. 

“You must— what?” he stammered. Spock continued unhindered. 

“I overstepped myself. I had assumed that you…enjoyed…joining minds with me. I acted illogically.” 

Kirk shook his head, face a mixture of guilt and pity. 

“No, Spock…” he whispered, then, more forcefully, “No, I was the one who acted illogically. You were only…I was being an idiot.” 

Spock’s face didn’t seem to shift in the dim light, but his voice was softer when he continued. 

“You acted reasonably for a human. I should not have expected otherwise.” 

Kirk laughed, but it was an expression of more sadness than anything else, a sound of incredible frustration and helplessness. 

“Spock, I should be the one apologizing. I should never have yelled at you.” His voice was soft but intense. “You don’t deserve…” 

For once in his life, Kirk didn’t know what to say. He only hoped that Spock would be able to understand. Hopelessly, almost too quiet to hear, he whispered, “I just want to be home.” 

Spock was silent for a long time, staring out at the soft starlit street. Then he finally spoke in a rumbling murmur that seemed to resonate within Kirk’s chest. 

“You speak of the Enterprise as our home. However, I served on the Enterprise for eleven years before you took over its command. And during all that time, I never considered the ship to be my ‘home.’” 

Kirk watched him intensely, not quite sure of his meaning. Spock turned and fixed Kirk with a dark stare, deeper than the coffee Kirk had lost himself in earlier. “The only time I ever felt that the Enterprise was my home, or at least the closest thing to home I have ever known,” he continued, “was when you were in command.” 

Kirk swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in his throat from rising. Spock inhaled deeply and then continued. “Even trapped here, on an alien planet, in an alien time, I still feel closer to home than I ever did on my own planet. The logical conclusion to draw would seem to be that ‘home’ is determined not by the place, but by the people within it. As such, I would posit that we are, in fact, home.” 

Kirk closed his eyes and licked his lips. “That is, of course,” Spock added, “assuming you feel the same way.” 

Kirk couldn’t stop himself any longer. He grabbed Spock by the back of the head and pulled them together, pressing the contours of their cheeks against each other.

“Of course, of course I feel the same way, you…” he muttered, unable to think of an appropriate epithet. It was too dark to tell, but he suspected that their faces were equally deep shades of pink and green. He could feel Spock relax into his grip and he pulled them both up and out of their chairs to get closer to him. Squeezing the slender frame, which he noticed was clothed only in a black Starfleet undershirt, tight against his body, he felt a hot tear seep out of his eye. “I’m sorry, Spock,” he whispered. Silently, Spock brought his hand up to Kirk’s face and tenderly wiped the tear off his cheek. Smiling, Kirk brought his face to meet Spock’s and, standing on his toes, pressed their foreheads together. Spock closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. Kirk thought he could detect a hint of a smile. Spock brought his hand to Kirk’s back and gently pressed in with his fingertips. Kirk rubbed his nose against Spock’s and chuckled, suddenly realizing how tired he was. 

“Spock,” he said softly, “I don’t know about you, but I need to get to sleep.” 

He could feel Spock nod. It was a very slight nod, but having the curves of someone's face lying tangent to one’s own tends to make one sensitive to slight movements. Kirk glanced over to Spock’s bed, which was currently serving as a holder for the bulky wooden frame of his device. The two stood with their noses rubbing slowly together, hands on each other’s backs, swaying slightly in the dim silver light. Kirk let out a slow, warm sigh through his nose. Unwilling to break out of the embrace but unable to keep himself standing any longer, he tried to drag Spock with him towards his bed. However, he had forgotten how immovable Vulcans could be, and succeeded only in wrenching his arm. Deciding that perhaps force was not the best tactic, he pressed his lips against Spock’s nose and broke gently out of the grip, pulling himself away only reluctantly. Spock left one hand on his shoulder, staring warmly into Kirk’s eyes. Kirk reached his own hand up to Spock’s and wrapped his fingers around the thin palm, pulling it tenderly off his shoulder and down between them. Spock reached his other hand out and ran it through Kirk’s soft blond curls, forcing Kirk to grab that hand as well and pull it down to meet the other. He pressed his hands together, still holding Spock’s, and shook them back and forth gently as if in fervent prayer. 

“Spock, I need to sleep,” he pleaded laughingly. Spock gave the barest hint of a smile, then pulled his hands out of Kirk’s and placed them behind his back. “Thank you,” Kirk laughed. He stumbled backwards to his bed, hands out behind him to avoid crashing into anything. Tripping onto the mattress, he fell back and spread his arms out. It seemed that the absent doctor may have had a point about coffee, as he was now suffering from a rather severe caffeine crash. Spock, watching the theatrics with an involuntary smile, turned to the wrinkled blankets on the floor that had been serving as his and Kirk’s beds. “Spock, bring a blanket over here,” Kirk called, “I can’t move.” Spock raised an eyebrow, but obeyed, shaking dust off the blanket and carrying it to the rather small bed. Kirk craned his neck to see if Spock had listened. Seeing that he had indeed, Kirk twisted himself around with a great effort to lie lengthwise on the edge of the bed. “Come on.” He motioned for Spock to lie down. “I’m not sleeping on the floor again.” 

“I don’t believe I’ll fit,” Spock said, rather bemused. Kirk waved a sleepy hand dismissively at his concerns. 

“Just try it.” 

Hesitantly, Spock climbed into the small bed next to Kirk, half-sitting, and laid the blanket over top of them. There was really not enough room for both of them, but they managed to make it work. Kirk sighed happily, snuggling deep into the blankets. Spock stroked his luscious honey curls, reveling in their lambs-ear softness. 

“Perhaps,” Spock murmured, “you would like it if I…helped you to sleep?” 

Kirk opened his eyes and looked coyly up at Spock through his long lashes. 

“I would like that very much, Mister Spock,” he replied softly. Closing his eyes once again, Kirk felt soft fingertips press into his temple and cheekbone, and the last thing he could remember before his mind was filled with the soft glow of stars drifting in the darkness was a deep voice, very soft, singing in what he thought he recognized as Vulcan.

* * *

Spock awoke without remembering having gone to sleep. Kirk’s arms were wrapped around him rather tightly, and his nose was pressed into Spock’s neck. Spock was hanging precipitously on the edge of the bed, and was unsure of how to extricate himself. He attempted to remove Kirk’s arms from around his chest, but his captain’s grip was quite strong, even when soundly asleep, and Spock didn’t dare risk using anything more than the barest amount of force, knowing how delicate humans could be. He decided to try and slowly rise, hoping a steady increase in gentle pressure would coax Kirk’s arms apart. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Spock tried to pull himself free. But Kirk, apparently unconsciously intent on stopping Spock from ever waking up, rolled into him. The combined momentum pushed them past the balancing point, and, tangled together, they tumbled to the floor. Kirk awoke with a start to find Spock half on top of him. 

“Mister Spock,” he groaned, rather winded, “I don’t know how they do it on Vulcan, but where I come from, there are… gentler ways to wake somebody up.” 

“I assure you, this was not my intent,” Spock replied, moving off of Kirk, who was starting to laugh. Spock began to stand, but Kirk grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down to the floor. Spock remained on the floor next to Kirk this time, and the smallest of incredulous smiles began to creep over his face as Kirk lay on his back, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, laughing nearly hysterically. “Are you all right?” Spock asked drolly. Kirk nodded and wiped a tear from his eye. 

“No, of course,” he chuckled, “It’s just…” 

He tried to find words to explain why he was laughing and realized that he didn’t really know himself. “Ah, what time is it exactly?” he asked, propping himself up against the bed. 

“I do not know exactly,” Spock replied, “but I would estimate that it is around four in the morning.” 

“Four in the…” Kirk muttered, “do you wake up this early every day?” 

Spock nodded. “Indeed. Although I usually try to allow you to sleep.” 

“I appreciate that, Mister Spock, but I’m awake now.” 

“You could go back to sleep,” Spock suggested. 

“No, no,” Kirk sighed, shaking his head in feigned resignation, “there’s no help for it. I’m just going to have to spend time with you until the sun comes up.” 

Spock nodded, eyes turned up in consideration. 

“That would indeed seem to be your only alternative.” 

“Well,” Kirk declared, “if it’s our only choice, we might as well get started.” 

He turned and grabbed Spock’s shoulders with as serious a face as he could muster. “Now remember, mister, I don’t like this any more than you do,” he said in his most captainly voice, “but we don’t have any other options.” 

Trying to keep a straight face despite Spock’s eyebrow, which was apparently trying to join his newly curly hairline, Kirk leaned in and caressed Spock’s lips with his own. Although it had taken him a while to determine with any certainty, the Vulcan’s mouth was definitely refreshingly icy to the touch. He wondered what Spock must think of his own flesh, over-heated with emotion as it was. Spock took Kirk’s hand from where it was gripping his shoulder and pressed their palms together. This unbalanced Kirk slightly, who had been leaning on Spock, and he nearly fell into Spock’s lap. Shifting to be closer together, Kirk tried to support both the familiar and the alien embrace. The two had reached a sort of unspoken agreement whereby Spock would lead the Vulcan kiss and Kirk the Terran. Although awkward, it seemed to work pretty well for them, and they managed to pass the time quite enjoyably until the dim sunlight spilled into their room. 

In the muted light of an overcast winter sunrise, Kirk’s gently ruffled hair gleamed an illogically pleasing shade of pale gold. He had nodded off, despite his conviction to remain awake, and lay slumped over Spock, the both of them leaning against the side of the bed. Kirk had pulled the blanket down from the mattress and wrapped it around the two, making sure that Spock was covered as thoroughly as possible. 

“I know how cold you Vulcans get,” he had said in such an assuring voice that Spock had not wanted to interfere. In fact, despite the chill of the morning, Spock was rather warm, having a sweaty human body pressed against him. Their hands lay limply together, Spock’s fingertips delicately resting on Kirk’s palm. He was enjoying the contact, but the white sunlight illuminating their dusty room led him to decide that he had better wake Kirk up. 

“Jim,” he said softly. Kirk didn’t stir. “Jim,” he repeated, a little louder. Still evoking no response, Spock shifted his shoulder so that Kirk’s head lolled off of it, expecting this to wake him. However, he succeeded only in trapping himself under his captain’s rather ample weight, Kirk’s head now lying across his extended legs. Allowing a hiss of frustration to escape between his teeth, Spock grabbed Kirk’s shoulder and shook it. “Jim,” he said a third time, perhaps louder than was necessary. Kirk shook his head and blinked his eyes open. He smiled to see Spock looking curiously down on him, then his face creased as if in sudden realization.

“I thought the plan was to remain awake,” he said, sitting up. He smiled reproachfully at Spock. “You shouldn’t have put me to sleep.” 

Spock shook his head, smiling slightly. 

“I didn’t,” he replied. 

Kirk looked abashed. 

“Oh.” 

He stood up and stretched. Whatever scant benefit his aching bones had gained from sleeping on a mattress was quickly undone by spending a few hours on the floor. He blinked in the morning light. Realizing that he had gone to sleep in the same shirt he had been wearing for over a full day now, he began to undo the buttons with clumsy, sleep-numbed fingers. Buttons had been hard to get used to, but he thought he had the hang of them now. He and Spock had developed a routine of checking each other’s shirts to make sure they were done up properly before either one went out. He slipped off the thin flannel shirt and threw it into the corner. Rolling his shoulders back, he felt his stiff spine crack. He was really beginning to miss the air-cushioned Starfleet mattresses. 

Spock had stood up and folded the warm blanket. Placing it on the bed, he stood with his arms crossed, surveying the dressing Kirk. As if he detected undue attention, Kirk turned around, chest still bare. 

“What are you looking at?” he joked, hands on his hips in a mock defensive posture. Spock gave the slightest shake of the head. 

“Nothing,” Spock said. “Just considering a cultural dissimilarity.” 

“Oh yeah?” Kirk replied, smiling. “And what would that be?” 

Spock moved slowly closer to Kirk, head cocked. 

“On my world, men are very…slender. No doubt due to the strictly plant-based diet, at least in part.”

His eyes roved across Kirk’s admittedly slightly stocky frame, which was beginning to shiver in its bareness. “It is…interesting,” he continued, “to see what a diet of meat can produce.”

“Are you calling me fat, Spock?”

Spock glanced upwards to Kirk’s glinting hazel eyes, which had assumed a rather puppy-dog-ish stare. Spock’s lips parted. He had not intended to imply anything hurtful, but it seemed as if it had been inferred anyway. 

“I would not use that term, exactly…” he said, rather lamely. Kirk rolled his eyes and began to turn away. Spock, sensing that he had misspoken, grabbed Kirk’s arm and pulled him back around. He slid an arm around Kirk’s waist and pulled him in, flesh pressing against flesh. “I meant only to say, Jim, that you are a welcome change.” 

Kirk smiled in spite of himself. 

“Dammit, Spock, I can’t stay mad at you for barely a second.” 

“I see no reason for profanity,” Spock said, arm still wrapped around Kirk’s bare waist. 

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t think that you would,” Kirk replied amicably. He twined his hands around Spock’s waist, which was in fact unbelievably slender. Before Spock realized what he was doing, Kirk had grabbed the thin but insulating fabric of Spock’s undershirt and pulled it up and over his head. Kirk had to stand on tiptoe for this, but he was able to detach the shirt pretty thoroughly from its owner. Spock had let go of his waist in surprise at this sudden odd betrayal, and Kirk used this opportunity to pull the sleeves off Spock’s wiry arms. He held the fabric prize out away from them and grinned at Spock’s wide-eyed, bare-chested stare. He tossed the shirt behind him. Spock stared in incomprehension at Kirk’s wide, boyish smile. 

“If I may ask,” Spock said, voice uncertain, “what was the purpose of that?” 

Kirk shrugged. 

“It didn’t seem fair,” he said, still smiling waggishly. Spock looked at him in disbelief, which only made Kirk’s grin broader. He started to push past Kirk to retrieve the shirt, but Kirk grabbed his arm to stop him. “Oh, no, you don’t, mister,” he said, pulling Spock in. “Get over here.” 

Spock, in an odd combination of annoyance, affection, and surprise at feeling anything at all, allowed something to slip past his lips inadvertently. 

“Ashayam—” he hissed. Kirk raised an eyebrow. 

“I don’t see any need for profanity, Mister Spock,” he said genially. Spock flushed a deep green, hoping Kirk didn’t know what he actually had said. But as Kirk pulled their bodies together and kissed Spock affectionately on the nose, Spock suddenly was unable to formulate any kind of coherent thought, logical or illogical. Kirk felt a slight shiver run through the Vulcan’s frame, and he wavered between deciding to let him go so he could put a shirt on and just standing there and holding him tight. Finally, though, he allowed Spock to break free and slip the black undershirt back on. Kirk rifled through the clothes he had collected the other night and pulled out a deep burgundy collared shirt. He slipped it on and began to do up the buttons, staring all the while out at the brilliant sun glaring through the grey film of clouds and smog. He sighed, and Spock, wriggling into his tight undershirt, regarded him. Kirk turned his head to meet Spock’s eyes, and Spock noticed how luminously green the deep purple shirt made his soft hazel eyes appear. 

“This yellow sun…” Kirk sighed, “‘sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,’ Mister Spock.” 

Spock tilted his head.

“Shakespeare,” he noted. 

“Indeed,” Kirk acknowledged, turning back to the window. He thought that the conversation was ended there, and was surprised to hear Spock’s deep voice. 

“‘All that’s best of dark and bright, meet in your aspect and your eyes…’” 

Kirk turned around to meet a soft umber stare. “‘Thus mellow’d to that tender light,’” Spock continued, “‘Which heaven to gaudy day denies.’”

“Byron,” Kirk said in surprise. Spock nodded. Kirk had an odd look on his face of bewilderment and pride. “I never took you as one for poetry, Mister Spock.” 

“One of my favorites, Captain.” 

Kirk smiled. 

“You misquoted it, of course. There’s no ‘you’ in the original.” 

Spock dipped his head in acknowledgment. 

“The pronouns in the original seemed…inappropriate for the current situation.” 

Kirk thought a minute in silence. 

“‘What is your substance, whereof are you made, that millions of strange shadows on you tend?’” he recited softly, considering Spock’s rich chocolate eyes. “‘For every one hath, every one, one shade; and you but one, can every shadow lend.’”

Spock moved to stand next to him. 

“More Shakespeare, Captain?”

“Do you object?”

“Not at all.” 

The two were silent for a minute or more.

Spock shifted his weight. “Of course,” he noted, “Shakespeare lived in a mono-star system.”

Kirk looked at him curiously. “So each person could have had only one true shadow,” Spock explained. Kirk chuckled.

“I always thought of it more as symbolism,” he replied, “the fleeting shadows of the world and its inhabitants, clinging desperately to a being of…divine beauty.”

Spock made a vague noise that could have indicated anything from pensive consideration to mild amusement. 

“‘The fountains mingle with the river, and the rivers with the ocean,’” Spock recited in his deep intonation, staring absently out the window. “‘The winds of heaven mix forever, with a sweet emotion. Nothing in the world is single, all things by a law divine…’”

He trailed off and flicked his eyes downward, almost abashed. 

“‘In one spirit meet and mingle,’” Kirk continued for him. He paused before speaking the next line. “‘Why not…I with thine?’” 

He chuckled. “Shelley. You seem to be sticking to a theme, Spock.” 

Spock raised an eyebrow as if this were a challenge. 

“‘To breathe the dust of scattered galaxies, to rest between the sunset and sunrise; to sail upon the gentlest solar breeze, is to be lost in your celestial eyes.’” 

Kirk considered, then laughed. 

“Alright, you’ve got me. I don’t know that one.” 

Spock nodded. 

“Not very well-known at all,” he said. “A product of a colonist on your Earth’s first Mars settlements, circa 2040 or so. Not terrible, but a bit…on-the-nose if you ask me.”

Kirk frowned, impressed with Spock’s apparently broad knowledge of verse. That memory is good for more than just formulas, he thought to himself. 

“Well, here’s one you might not know,” he said in amiable challenge. “‘In the glade a light was seen, of stars in shadow shimmering; and light of stars was in…his hair, and in his raiment glimmering.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“John Ronald Reuel Tolkien.”

Kirk nodded slowly. He put a hesitant hand up towards Spock’s onyx curls and gently wove a ringlet around his finger. 

“‘Within the shadows of his hair; the trembling starlight of the skies, he saw there, mirrored shimmering.’”

Spock closed his eyes as Kirk ran gently explorative fingers through his soft black waves. 

“If I recall,” Spock said in a low voice, “that poem describes the character Tinuviel, one of Tolkien’s fictional elves. You changed the pronouns as well.”

“Fictional, eh?” Kirk smiled, hand still entwined in Spock’s hair. “Well, let’s see… elves were described as tall, slender, stoic…” As he spoke, he tucked a few loose ringlets behind Spock’s elegant ears. “Pale of complexion,” he continued, moving closer to Spock, “with strangely pointed ears, if I recall correctly.” He shook his head. “No, you’re right. That’s an absurd idea. The stuff of fantasy.” 

The barest hint of a Vulcan smile was creasing Spock’s delicate features. 

“They were immortal as well, if my memory serves,” he said, lazy eyelids just scarcely opening. 

“Ah, ‘but thy eternal summer shall not fade,’” Kirk recited with a smile. Spock shook his head, rolling his eyes, but was clearly flattered. 

Kirk frowned in mock consideration. “You know,” he said, “Tinuviel herself, the most beautiful of all the elves, had dark hair…” He continued to play with Spock’s soft curls, wrapping his other arm around Spock’s waist. “Deep and beautiful eyes,” he continued, “and, despite her apparent youth, was wise and powerful.” He leaned in and the two shared a tender kiss. “And you know,” Kirk murmured in between mouthfuls of Vulcan, “Tinuviel was only half Elven.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and broke off the embrace. 

“Indeed?” he said, in what was apparently genuine surprise. 

“Indeed,” Kirk replied. He stared intently at Spock. “And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she also fell in love…with a human.” His eyes were taking on the dreamy quality that Spock knew all too well; the one that signified that he was preparing to embark on one of his inspiring verbal journeys. “And the two of them chased the stars together,” Kirk continued, “or as close to it as they could get, and—”

Spock, in an act of self-preservation, quickly closed Kirk’s lips with his own. Kirk looked disappointed for a split second, but he was successfully distracted from his tangent. 

At a certain point it became clear that the two were going to have to embark on their daily errands; Kirk out in the world, picking up basic provisions and interacting with those they had come to know during their short time in the city, Spock staying inside and monitoring the device. Kirk didn’t know what he did all day besides that. 

_Meditates, probably,_ Kirk thought as he walked down the city sidewalk towards the market. _Or maybe he just sits and stares at that screen for hours._ A chill wind rushed down the street and Kirk pulled his felt coat tighter around him. _Perhaps it’s good that Spock is inside. It is, as Mister Sulu would say, a bit nippy._ He pictured the lanky body curled under a rumpled blanket, beanie pulled down tight around the pointed ears, and suddenly it didn’t seem so cold anymore. 

Kirk arrived back in the apartment laden with the scant prizes of his journeys. He smiled warmly to see Spock sitting stoically as usual in his faded cloth chair, staring at the dimly flickering screen. He set down the parcels and shrugged off his coat. Spock didn’t seem to have noticed his entrance. Striding over to the immobile Vulcan, Kirk grasped his head gently and planted a kiss on the soft black curls, inhaling their softly musky scent. Spock didn’t react, and Kirk pulled away in concern and turned Spock’s face up towards himself. The familiarly angled features seemed more drawn than usual, and the healthy mint flush had drained away to leave a pallid sheen. Spock sighed and gently pulled Kirk’s fingers off of his head, letting them drop limply back to Kirk’s side. He turned to the screen. And then, in a very low voice,

“There’s something you need to see.”

## Epilogue

They had been back on the Enterprise for nearly two days, and it still felt, despite its overwhelming familiarity, an alien habitat, a synthetic container. The roofed hallways cramped, stagnant in their temperature-controlled stillness, and a stark blue under subtly flickering fluorescent lights. The room which they had inhabited for so long, which they had memorized the layout of, was now nothing but a stale relic, cast aside in their minds, and with it all the dim golden mornings and grey afternoons. They had gotten used to real cloth, real sunlight, real food, and a false reality. 

Kirk had taken to his quarters and barely emerged since their return. McCoy had issued a vague report of his being ill and needing medical rest from command, and defended his friend’s privacy viciously. Anyone attempting to enter Kirk’s quarters, or even inquire after his health, was met with a very pointed suggestion to turn their attention elsewhere. McCoy had also dipped into what he called his “Emergency Reserves” (mostly very old whiskey), and was providing a steady supply of medical attention to Kirk. Spock had not seen his captain since they returned from the planet. 

Taking leave from the bridge, which he only did when forced to, Spock hesitated at the end of the corridor that contained both his and Kirk’s quarters. He had not been down that way since they first arrived back on the ship, when he had changed his clothes and re-straightened his hair. But now it seemed necessary to procure another change of clothes. He sighed deeply through his nose and proceeded down the empty hallway. He had barely gotten halfway to his quarters when McCoy slipped out of Kirk’s room. Despite attempts to suppress his neurotransmitters, a chill ran down Spock’s spine. McCoy looked up in shock to see the Vulcan and fixed him with a glare. Spock strode on in hopes of reaching his own quarters before the doctor could stop him, but he was unsuccessful. McCoy blocked his path through the narrow hallway, scowling upwards into Spock’s impassive eyes. 

“Where in God’s name have you been these past two days?” McCoy said accusingly. Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“On the bridge, mostly,” he replied coolly. He attempted to move around the doctor but McCoy followed, stepping directly in front of him. 

“That’s the issue,” McCoy declared, “you’ve been away from where you should be.” 

“My duty is to Starfleet,” Spock replied, attempting to sidestep McCoy and being thwarted once again. “As such, the bridge is where I ‘should be.’” 

McCoy jabbed at Spock’s chest with his index finger. 

“What the hell did you do to him down there?” 

Spock went cold.

“I do not understand what you are asking, doctor.” He had no idea what Kirk had said, about anything, and he did not want to betray more than he had to. McCoy’s eyes narrowed.  
“Something happened down there,” he hissed, “and neither of you will tell me about it.” 

Spock pushed past him and began to stride briskly down the hallway. McCoy grabbed him by the sleeve, stopping him short. “Dammit, Spock, he’s not eating. Barely sleeping. And for whatever fool reason, he likes you, and you know that, and you haven’t said a single word to him since we came back.”

Spock shrugged off the doctor’s grip and continued walking towards his cabin, with McCoy in pursuit. “He hasn’t said one damn word about you,” he continued, trying to keep up with Spock’s long strides while still maintaining his brusque tone. “Usually he talks about you more than any sane person would expect, and he hasn’t even said your damn name.” 

Spock continued walking at the same pace despite the effort of remaining outwardly composed in the face of such revelations. McCoy continued unhindered. “He explained to me what happened with… with Edith, but he hasn’t said anything else of substance.” 

The two had reached the door to Spock’s quarters, which McCoy proceeded to blockade with his body. 

“Allow me to enter my quarters, doctor,” Spock requested calmly.

McCoy shook his head curtly. 

“Not until you talk to Jim. I don’t know what the hell is going on with you two, but nothing good can come of you avoiding each other. You’re the first officer, for God’s sake,” he said, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation, “and he’s your captain.” He looked around the ship in a mixture of desperation and grudging pride. “And this is, if you’ll remember, a five-goddamn-year-mission. You can’t avoid him forever.” 

Spock thought it would not be wise to push the matter further. However, he did not know what could possibly come of talking to Kirk. Kirk had isolated himself for a reason. Spock had presumed that this was reason was to avoid him. He had therefore stayed clear out of respect, or so he told himself, rather than fear or uncertainty. But the doctor, in his typical emotional state, had brought up some unfortunately logical points. It would be necessary to at least ascertain the nature of the situation between himself and the captain. And as such, they would need to talk. He sighed and turned towards Kirk’s quarters. The door, despite being no different than every other on the ship, had always seemed warm to Spock, almost friendly. It now seemed cold and unforgiving. Regardless, he resisted the urge to glance back at the doctor, who he guessed was watching him intently, and strode to the door. He hesitated a fraction of a second before buzzing in.

“Spock here,” he said in the most neutral voice he could muster. The door remained closed for a disconcertingly long amount of time, then slid open with its familiar hiss.

It was dark in the room, most of the lights turned off, and the faint scent of alcohol hung in the filtered air. A vaguely rectangular bottle of thick glass sat half-full of a dark liquid, faded label slightly torn, on Kirk’s desk. Two glasses were beside it, one drained and one barely touched. Spock blinked in the dim light. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed Kirk, who was lying on his mattress on the other side of the room. Spock moved dexterously around to where he lay, stopping a few feet away, arms crossed behind his back. Kirk was on his side, staring listlessly out into the room. One arm was positioned under his body and the other was toying absently with some small object. He didn’t move his head or even shift the focus of his stare. 

“I was wondering when I’d see you, Mister Spock,” he said lightly. 

Spock didn’t have a reply. Kirk sighed deeply and sat up. He looked up at Spock, and the incredible sadness in his honey-golden gaze somehow made his eyes even more beautiful. “Where have you been?” he asked softly. 

Spock shifted his weight.

“On the bridge,” he replied in something almost like guilt. 

Kirk exhaled through his nose in a sort of sad laugh. He motioned weakly for Spock to sit next to him. Spock tentatively complied. The two were not quite touching, the thin fabrics of their uniforms separated by a layer of uncertain air. Kirk stared off into space, rolling what appeared to be an obsidian polyhedron between his fingers. His breathing seemed to fill the silence of the room. 

“I did love her,” he said finally. 

Spock nodded.

“I felt as much in your mind.” 

Kirk flicked his gaze downwards to his hand. He watched the obsidian shine in the dim light, coated with a thin layer of sweat. 

“On your world, people mate for life, do they not?” 

Spock inclined his head. 

“Usually.” 

“Here, it is…not so simple,” Kirk said, his voice threatening to give out. “We are forced to…experiment.” 

Spock shook his head. 

“You need not justify yourself to me,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. 

Kirk shook his head vehemently and swallowed hard, closing his eyes against the threat of tears. He tried to continue with his speech. 

“I knew that I loved her. What I didn’t…” He began to choke on the lump in his throat. He swallowed and tried to begin again. “I didn’t…” 

He couldn’t make it. Hot, fat tears seeped from his golden eyes and ran in torrents down his face. Spock sat by his side, still insulated by the fearful layer of air, and watched him silently sob. Then he took a slender finger and gently wiped the tears off of Kirk’s cheek. 

Kirk laughed even as new tears ran down to replace the ones that Spock had wiped away. He rubbed his eyes with his forearm, leaving a damp stain on the gold fabric.

“Why do you always do that?” he asked gently, the lump in his throat dissolving. 

Now Spock was the one who had to fight against choking.

“When I was a child,” he said in a low voice, “if I ever…I...” He cleared his throat and started again. “My mother would wipe my cheeks dry when I was very small. And then, when I was old enough to know not to cry, I did the same for her.” 

Kirk closed his eyes and sighed, partially for himself and partially for Spock. A few tears still dripped down his face. 

“What I was trying to say,” he said softly, “is that I knew that I loved Edith. But what I didn’t realize…was that I loved you.” 

Spock took a shaking breath in. Kirk looked at him sidewise, through long, damp lashes. “But we were in a world without rules,” he continued sadly, “and now we are in a world with too many. And whatever we got used to is no longer true.”

Spock considered this. 

“There are indeed rules,” he intoned, “but as you have proved to me on many occasions, blind adherence to rules is not always…logical, if you will excuse the term.” 

Kirk looked at him in surprise. “If we were to follow the rules all the time,” Spock continued, “we both would be dead. Therefore—”

He was unable to follow the facts to their logical conclusion, as Kirk leaned in and kissed him. Spock decided that this was an acceptable response to his analysis, and returned the embrace.  
Then Spock did something he had never done before. He very carefully pressed his fingertips into Kirk’s tear-stained cheek and opened his own mind. He felt Kirk gasp, presumably having never been in a full psychic embrace before, and he allowed their minds to drift together, not controlling the flow of thoughts and emotions, simply enjoying it. _Rules be damned,_ one of them thought, and the other agreed. Or perhaps they both thought it and both agreed. But both floated together, adrift on a sea of stars, watching comets flit across the dark spaces between rolling galaxies, and each was glad to be there.


End file.
